Bleeding
by lostatseanomore
Summary: Orihime's POV/heartbreak while observing Ichigo's worry for Rukia. IchiRuki


Disclaimer: Neither _Bleach_ nor any of its characters belong to me

Hope you enjoy

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It wouldn't stop bleeding. I focused my energy, but blood, too much blood, continued to flow from the wound. My friend lay in front of me in a pool of her own sticky crimson blood, and I willed myself to work harder, to heal my friend. _My friend_, I repeated to myself over and over. I felt more energy enter my hands as I continued to work, but the wound didn't seem to be healing. I focused harder.

My gaze shifted slightly, to the figure beside me. He was staring at our friend too. Even with the crisis surrounding us, I couldn't help but marvel at him, at how, after days of beatings and battles, he was still...so...beautiful. A wound on his forehead let blood flow into one of his bewitching amber eyes. He had a long gash on his cheek. Bruises covered every other part of his body I could see. Dried blood had matted his normally beautiful orange hair, and the bandages wrapped around his strong, capable hands were browned and tattered. His lower lip was split and swollen. He was almost as badly injured as the girl I was healing, only he didn't have a fatal wound, with his life spilling out of his body, staining the ground beneath us--still, his only concern was for..._her_.

I saw the look in his eyes; I'd seen that look before, always, always when he looked at her. He stared at her, lying limp beneath my working hands, and as he did, I could see his eyes were luminous, glazed and glassy, reflecting not just in the glow of the orange light hovering above her body, but also by unshed tears that lined his eyes. I could see some clinging to his lower lashes. And as he stared at her seemingly sleeping form, as he gently cradled her hand in his lap, as his mouth moved with inaudible whispers, I felt something inside me begin to wither.

Deep down, I had always known how he felt about her, how they felt about each other, but I'd just taught myself to ignore it, taught myself to keep the hope within me alive. But now...I don't think I will be able to keep the charade going for much longer. I wanted him to look at me, even just once, the way he was looking at her right now, but he never had and I knew he never would. I tried to focus but couldn't help looking at him. His eyes hadn't left her face once--his jaw was tight with apprehension and his perfect brow was furrowed with worry--and I fought the jealousy rising deep within me.

"Come on, come on, don't quit on me now," he whispered, surprising me a bit.

"She'll be fine. Don't worry," I said calmly, trying to reassure him, but he ignored me completely.

Blood dripped down his face, off his chin, landing in droplets on his knees. I wanted to heal _his_ wounds, I wanted to wipe away _his_ tears, but I knew healing her was more important, saving her life was more important. _My friend_. I looked down; the wound had finally stopped bleeding and was beginning to seal. She stirred, but didn't awaken.

He practically jumped out of his skin. He called her name and caressed her forehead, brushed her raven hair out of her face. She turned into the warmth of his touch. I bit my lip as I finished up. She wasn't completely healed yet, but I was drained and would soon be of no further use; she would be taken cared of at the medical center. He didn't even notice when I stood up, or when I backed away. He stayed by her side, cradled her head in his lap, tried to wipe away his tears before they dripped onto her face, still slightly contorted in pain. He whispered to her, but I chose to move further out of earshot, believing my heart would fail me if it heard him declare his love for her.

That's what I would have wanted: if I had nearly died, only to have him risk his life to save me, and then woke in his arms, I would want to hear him say he loved me. And I'd smile and tell him I loved him back. But _I_ wasn't the one in his arms at the moment...

I headed over to our group of friends, but I couldn't smile, couldn't laugh with them. Not yet at least. Joy had returned to their eyes and thoughts, now that everyone would be okay. They spoke enthusiastically of returning home and getting back to life, but I knew I would never be the same, never be as I once was.

I hated myself for feeling as I did. All my emotions spun together in a confusing whirlwind: relief, jealousy, regret, love, hate, sorrow, shame. I loved them both. Truly, I did. She was my _friend_; he was my...well, just my _friend_. And I was glad for them, really, and I sincerely hoped they were happy, would be happy.

The bleeding started again. No one could see this blood, however; no one was affected by it. This bleeding occurred deep down in my core, in my soul, and continued to seep out of my wounded heart. It would heel, I knew, but for now I let myself grieve, let myself bleed, so later I would be able to slip on my smile, to laugh and rejoice and celebrate with them...and they would be none the wiser.


End file.
